


Misunderstandings of Rashvines

by l_e_crivainsolitaire



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blackwall Perspective, Lavellan loves dragons, Mentioned Pavellan, Rashvines, Ry'del Lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_e_crivainsolitaire/pseuds/l_e_crivainsolitaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in Emprise du Lion. An Orlesian soldier mistakes Blackwall for the Inquisitor. </p><p>Day to day experiences the Inquisition goes through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misunderstandings of Rashvines

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a writer of banter.

The young Orlesian soldier turned to Blackwall, eyes wide from fear or excitement. He stumbled on his words until Blackwall barked it out of him. "What is it? Don't stand there staring."

"Inquisitor," the young man spat out, "It's an honor to serve you ser!" Nervous, like his skin was going to jump off his body. Blackwall narrowed his eyes and, bless the man, looked uncomfortable as he turned to his companions. Dorian, the way that he is, laughed—loudly. It was almost unbecoming, but it was Dorian, how can anything he do unbecoming? Varric was smart enough not to say anything but he couldn't help but chuckle. Then Blackwall looked apologetically at the Inquisitor himself—who wasn't even really paying attention, and was instead plucking a rashvine from a nearby tree. It was a curious thing, why he always collected rashvine.

"I'm not the Inquisitor, boy." Blackwall grunted, fingers massaging his forehead. "Your Inquisitor is over there," he pointed, just in time to see the elf lose a battle with a rare felandaris buried deep in the cold ground.

"Oof!" The Inquisitor landed on his bottom, felandaris leaves in hand. "Aha!" He said, smiling. "I still got some of it." Always the optimist.

Varric helped him up and pointed at the young Orlesian soldier who was finally starting to understand the situation. He was red in the face, looking back and forth between the elf and Blackwall.

"But," the young soldier protested.

Dorian raised an eyebrow at this, "careful," he warned. Too many had called the man a knife-ear.

The young man ignored him, "but he's so small." The voice now from nervous to confused, until he realized there was a dwarf right there. "S-sorry, ser." More to Varric than Lavellan.

At this, Dorian and Varric couldn't help themselves and laughed uproariously. But it was true. The Inquisitor was not a vision of conquest and power, he wasn't big muscle and height, instead, he was thin, small, and pale. His eyes were golden and large—like the sun, Dorian would say in intimate moments—framed with long lashes. Full lips that had a natural pout, a small nose, and shockingly white hair which he tied up in a ponytail. Inquisitor Lavellan has a prettiness that wasn't expected in warriors.

"Hello!" Lavellan greeted, seemingly unaware of what had been happening prior. "What's going on?"

The young man looked uncomfortable speaking to the Inquisitor, even he was taller, and bigger.

"Forgive my confusion, ser." He said instead, redeeming most of his embarrassment. "A report from Suledin Keep." The paper was rolled tight and thin.

Lavellan took the piece of paper, read it, and nodded. He turned to his companions, "dragons, across Judicael's Crossing." There was excitement in those golden eyes of his, "dragons! Three of them!"

"Should have had Tiny come instead of me," Varric said. "At this point, I just want to lie down."

"And I want a blanket," Dorian quipped, "made of silk preferably." At some point of the day, Dorian would get his wish.

Blackwall groaned, rolling his shoulders. "Another day, another dragon."

"Three." The Inquisitor beamed. He started towards the bridge, only stopping to pick another rashvine.

Before they could take another step, Blackwall asked, "so why do you collect so much rashvines?"

The Inquisitor shrugged, three rashvine leaves at hand, "because it's just hanging there. It's hard to resist when they keep glowing the way they do."

Blackwall raised an eyebrow, muttering under his breath, "you sound like Sera sometimes."

"What was that?" The Inquisitor half looked behind him at Blackwall.

"Nothing," he sighed. "Let's go kill a dragon."

The Inquisitor laughed, " _three_."


End file.
